


All The Days Had Been Nice

by BisexualHannibalLecter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Amnesia, Angst, Fallen Angels, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Presumed Dead, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-20 17:30:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20679200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BisexualHannibalLecter/pseuds/BisexualHannibalLecter
Summary: We'd get a little rain,Then the sun came out again.But a frost, it's hard to fight.Once it takes hold, flowers die.There's only so much you can doTo keep some things alive.He can’t feel him anymore.





	All The Days Had Been Nice

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [and, so on](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18193052) by [PaintedVanilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/pseuds/PaintedVanilla). 

> The plants used and their meanings will be listed in the end of story notes! This also fills the "Missing & Presumed Dead" square on my Bad Things Happen Bingo card!
> 
> Also, in case anyone gets confused, I do have the angels from the show in mind, and I use they/them for Michael and he/him for Uriel.

All the days had been nice, but today was different. Today was very, very different.

Aziraphale was in pain, or as close to pain as an angel could feel. It was more of an intense pressure, if one wanted to be accurate. It felt almost as if he had been struck in the chest, and all the breath had been taken out of him, and left his brain fuzzy for several moments.

For the first time ever, he couldn’t _ feel _ him. For so long he could simply feel his presence and find him anywhere, but now it was like he was gone. It was like he was…

_ No, _ Aziraphale thinks, _ he can’t be. _

So he asks. He prays and he prays and he prays, but She doesn’t answer. The Metatron doesn’t have any answers for him either. He doesn’t dare to demand anything, doesn’t dare to question Her, even in his pain and his curiosity that feels like it’s consuming him from the inside out. Instead, he goes to the Archangels.

“Gabriel,” he says, “I apologize if I’m interrupting.”

Gabriel gives Aziraphale a smile, a synthetic-looking expression that stretches over his chosen human features quite unnaturally. “No, of course not. We were discussing trivial matters,” he replies. “Nothing of great importance. What is it that you need, Principality Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale looks past Gabriel, at the faces of Michael, Sandalphon, and Uriel. None of them seem to be quite as content with his presence as Gabriel. Sandalphon looks at him as if he’s boring, as if Aziraphale has made the room worse by walking in, like an exasperated teenage girl in an angel’s corporeal form. Michael, on the other hand, simply looks neutral. Aziraphale can count the number of times he’s seen Michael smile on one hand, and the number of times they’ve had any other non-neutral expression on the other hand. And then there’s Uriel, who’s looking right at him, with something like pity in his eyes. It startles Aziraphale just as much as it intrigues him. 

Before Aziraphale can even think to ask Uriel about the look on his face, the words come out of his mouth, and he can hear the worry and desperation in his own voice. “I can’t feel him,” Aziraphale says. “I don’t know where he is. I was hoping any of you knew and could tell me.”

Gabriel’s smile widens, almost to a grotesque degree, and Aziraphale takes a step back. “Your angel, as it were?” he asks. “You can’t find him? What a pity.”

Aziraphale sees the sadness in Uriel’s eyes become more obvious, as if he’s trying to silently tell Aziraphale _ I’m sorry. _

Aziraphale stiffens. “Where is he? What happened? Gabriel, please, I’m begging you." He feels like a glass cup covered in a spider web of cracks, just moments from shattering. "Tell me where he is!” Aziraphale is surprised by how loudly he yells.

Gabriel’s expression sours. “He’s not here anymore, Principality. He is no longer of Heaven. He is of _ nothing _,” the Archangel hisses, his eyes glowing purple. “You should learn to be more respectful to those above you. That was one of his problems.” He reigns himself in, the glow of his eyes becoming dull, his expression less angry now. “He asked too many questions,” he says, turning away. “And it cost him his life. Be careful not to make that same mistake.”

There’s a fluttering sound, and Aziraphale is gone. He doesn’t stop until he’s in Eden. 

He sits under a cypress tree near the wall, far from the view of God's creation. He doesn't want another being setting their sights on him. Not here, not now, not when he's like _ this _. He rests in the shade of the tree, not bothering to admire the marigolds and rue flowers blooming around him. 

He finds his pain only growing when a rose bush catches his eye. The roses he received were always red and orange, like his lost angel's hair, and like the fire his angel loved so much, but these were yellow. Aziraphale nearly burst into tears. 

_ Yellow, _ he thinks, _ just like his eyes _.

He doesn't know how he'll go on. His faith in Her does not waver, but his faith in himself crumbles to nothing. He finally draws his knees to his chest and cries. He doesn’t dare ask God why, he only sobs as he tries to let the reality set in.

Hellfire would certainly be a more tolerable feeling than accepting that he’s gone.

* * *

For the first time in his existence, he could not catch himself. He had fallen many times, for jokes and by mistake, but his wings had always caught him. Now he could see as the feathers were plucked from his wings by sheer force, the rest singed or burned off by the Hellfire that had consumed him, and he could see his hair. The once beautiful reddish-orange color was being singed black as well as it flew around his face. The ends of his hair glowed as they burned, and the ashes and embers flew by his face, disappearing with his feathers.

Flower petals followed his feathers, a stark bright red contrasting with the white and black. He thought of who he had been on his way to give the flower to, and he cried. Only the pain of missing him could drive him to tears, even as he was in the midst of burning hellfire that made him feel like the skin was melting right off of his corporeal form. 

He fell and fell and fell. The longer he fell, the further away Heaven’s light became, and the fuzzier his memories became. Heaven’s light became a dim sparkle in the distance, like a distant star being viewed from the Earth, and then it disappeared. He screamed when he could no longer see even the slightest glimmer.

Moments later, he hit the ground, and everything went black.

* * *

The first thing he felt was cold. It didn’t bother him as it would a human, but the pain that followed as he began to move was unbearable. He screamed in agony and tried to keep still, but something hit him in the chest.

“Shut up!” a voice barked. “You lot are so bitchy, always whining and crying.”

You lot. He wasn’t quite sure what the other had meant by that. In fact, he wasn’t sure of anything except that he was in pain. He didn’t know who he was. He didn’t know anything.

“What will we do with it, Lord Beelzebub,” another voice asks.

“Leave it to wallow in its pain, Dagon. Must be a new one for us. Gabriel’s letter should arrive any moment if that’s the case.”

“Yes, my Prince,” Dagon replies.

He opens his eyes to see Beelzebub and Dagon looming over him. Beelzebub frowns, while Dagon simply acknowledges him with curiosity.

“Well now,” Beelzebub says, raising an eyebrow. “What do we have here?”

“Curious,” Dagon says. “Its eyes look like a lizard’s.”

“I was thinking a snake.” Beelzebub looks at Dagon. “Tell me, Dagon- what do snakes do?”

“They slither,” Dagon suggests.

Beelzebub motions for Dagon to guess again.

“They crawl?”

Beelzebub smiles, a wicked and scary expression that shows too many dirty and jagged teeth. “Precisely.” Beelzebub looks back down. “Crawly. It’s a fitting name, I believe. When you’re done squirming at my feet, we’ll talk more about your new role as a demon in Lucifer’s kingdom.”

Crawly looks at Beelzebub in pure confusion. “New? Was I...was I something else before? I can’t remember…”

“You were an angel,” Beelzebub says. “We all were at one time, but that’s behind us, as it is behind you.”

Something about the word angel strikes a chord in him that he can’t identify. It warms him from the inside out, and then it disappears, like a spark being snuffed out. Crawly tries to ignore it, as much as he longs to remember his life before now, and kneels before Beelzebub. As he moves, rose petals fall from his hair and his robes, the once deep red color now black, matching his hair and what few feathers he had left. 

“It is behind me, then,” he says. “What lies before me, my Lord?" Something about that phrase tastes like poison in his mouth.

Beelzebub grins. “Chaos. Come, and I will show you Hell, and teach you your place. I believe I have just the job for you, Crawly.”

Crawly nods and stands. “And what would that be?”

Beelzebub’s head tilts to the side, and a single word leaves those cracked and diseased lips.

“Sin.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story please leave a kudos! Comments are super appreciated! If you want to find/follow/friend me on other platforms, here are my usernames! Don’t be shy! 
> 
> @bisexywill on Tumblr (Main Blog)  
@bisexual-hannibal-lecter on Tumblr (Writing Blog)  
@bisexywill on Twitter (Writing Updates & Stuff)  
@baby mongoose#6953 on Discord
> 
> The plants & their meanings are as follows:
>
>> **Cypress** \- _Death, Mourning, Despair, Sorrow_  
**Marigold** \- _Pain & Grief_  
**Rue** \- _Sorrow_  
**Red Rose** \- _True Love_  
**Orange Rose** \- _Desire, Passion_  
**Yellow Rose** \- _A Broken Heart, Intense Emotion, Undying Love_  
**Black Rose** \- _Death, Farewell, Rebirth_  



End file.
